Cassandra Drake
by nowhatdidyousaydude
Summary: A short story involving Cassandra Drake and the mystery of Oak Island.
1. Chapter 1

I don't own anything from the Uncharted series

srsly pls dont sue me

* * *

1

The gathering place. Oahu. And it sure did gather. Surfers from everywhere came to surf these waves, sit on the burning hot sand, and feel like immensely hot sun on their skin. The island itself was beautiful and I was very much enjoying my time on the green island.

I liked the ocean. It was blue and beautiful. And when you were close to the shore, you could see your feet beneath the water as if you were just looking down. It was so clear and...pure.

I loved the ocean and surfing was a rush I could never explain, but there was nothing better than solid ground. Dirt, plants, new hiking boots, a hidden trail, the peak of a mountain.

And that was where I was heading. I was due to get off the island of Oahu within the next couple of days. I was heading for Peru for some anthropological work. Really, it was just an excuse to hike some trails I had only seen in National Geographic.

I wanted to be there. I was done with the ocean - at least for that day.

I walked along the sand, glancing down at the contrast of the white sand to my tan feet. Another thing Oahu was good for was one fantastic tan. I walked with my surfboard under my arm, jogging to avoid my feet from burning up. I eventually made it to the small parking lot, void of any actual lines, even though there weren't very many cars in the lot to begin with.

It took a lot of research and the trust of a handful of locals to find the beach that I did. My mom always told me that people skills were nearly as important as intelligence. One without the other...no good.

I tossed my board in the back of the 1990 jeep wrangler. It was cute. Sure, if you lifted up the hood, the majority of the parts were duct tape, but it got me from point A to point B, and that was all I cared about. It was also convenient, you know - no roof so I could feel the wind and four-wheel drive to get over or through anything I needed to.

It was a good car. Except it wasn't.

"Come on." I turned the key again. I could hear the car trying so hard. It wanted to start, but it just couldn't. Each desperate attempt made my heart sink just a little bit more. I was on attempt #5 when I heard the honking of a horn behind me.

It was clearly a rental car. I saw a bunch of cars advertised like that in the commercial part of Hawaii. There was nothing wrong with the car apart from the fact that it was totally douchey. But I didn't know what I was should've expected from Jared Kay.

Jared Kay. He wore shoes that could only be worn for a certain amount of time. The kind you would _not_ bring to Oahu. He had on a pair of black sunglasses and a suit, no tie. He wasn't a lawyer, but he walked like one. You know what I mean? Like you knew what he wanted and he knew he was going to get it. That was how he was walking towards me at that moment.

"You haven't been returning my calls."

I nodded to his chest, noting the absence of a tie. "Real casual, Kay. Vacation?"

"My calls, Cassandra."

"I know, I know," I said in a soothing tone. I sensed the tension in his voice. His phone never left his hand, so the fact that I couldn't answer mine was baffling to him. "But I was out on the water."

He left his sunglasses on but I knew his eyes were narrowed behind them. "And your excuse for the last two weeks?"

"I've been busy," I said simply.

"Busy gallivanting on some board?"

"Remind me why we're friends?"

" _Colleagues,_ " he corrected, taking a step closer. "You do the research, discoveries - the dirty work. I fund, sort out the legalities, get the publicity...It's a win-win. Or it would be if you answered my calls."

I chuckled, unzipping my wetsuit and tugging it down. "You're really hung up on that, aren't you?"

He finally took off those stupid sunglasses and then tucked them over his button up. He watched me as I leaned against the jeep, tugging off the tight, quite wet, wetsuit. "Is this going to take all day?"

"Says the man who looked into his suitcase -" He rolled his eyes, crossing his arms against his chest as I continued. "Knew he was going to Oahu and decided the pack a suit or two. You're ridiculous." I took off the wetsuit and threw it in the back of the jeep. "Don't tell me you also packed your silk undies."

For just a second, the hard and professional exterior of Jared Kay came down. "You have no idea what kind of underwear I wear."

I grabbed the big t-shirt, sliding it over my head. "Unless your style has changed since Portugal -"

"Enough about Portugal," he interrupted. He didn't like to talk about Portugal. "I'm here because you're not going to Peru anymore."

I sighed, one hand finding my face to pinch the bridge of my nose. I was excited for Peru. "Why not?"

"Something better came up." He reached into the pocket of his pants and pulled out a piece of paper, folded into a perfect square.

I took it and unfolded it, merely grazing. I really wanted to go to Peru. It was just coordinates and the name of a province in Canada, which was significantly less exciting. "Nova Scotia, Canada? What about it?"

"Have you ever heard of Oak Island?"

Yes. "Yes." And I didn't want to hear about it. "And I don't care much for it."

Oak Island was a small, tree-covered island in Mahone Bay. For more than a century and a half, there had been countless excavations on the island, due to the big 'mystery' of some kind of treasure that was buried there in an area called the Money Pit. Some believed it was pirate treasure, others Spanish naval treasure, others Marie Antoinette's jewels. The reason's no ones found out is because there are countless obstacles in the way. In 1862, a group started digging and discovered a layer of flagstones two feet below, and then a layer of logs every 10 feet. It was obviously deliberately placed, but why? That only fuelled people's curiosity and more people started digging, but still, obstacles; layers of charcoal, putty, and coconut fibre at 40, 50, and 60 feet; flooding; metal blockades, more flooding; natural caverns; booby traps. All the excavations attempted, were eventually called off and no treasure had ever been discovered.

I tried not to have an opinion. I didn't want to get myself mixed up in a hoax.

"Don't care much? Why not?" He seemed genuinely curious. That, or he was challenging me.

I took a small step closer, eyes narrowing just slightly. "Because I'm convinced Oak Island is just the result of one guy suggesting there's this big, wonderful, rich treasure deep in the ground, who told another guy, who told another guy, who told another. It's all mass hysteria. There's nothing there."

Jared sighed, resting an arm against the back of my jeep. "I thought you were all adventure."

"Promising ones."

"Early 1900's, excavators poured red paint into the flooded pit that revealed three separate flood channels." He seemed pretty impressed with himself - eyebrows raised, chest out.

I smiled. "Am I supposed to be impressed that you can read a Wikipedia page?"

He stood up straight again, his big hands finding his pockets. "Someone is hiding something. Something's going on with this _mystery._ " He said the word as if it tasted bitter in his mouth. "We can talk more back at my hotel."

I walked past him as I let myself feel smug. "Sounds suspiciously like Portugal."

"Enough about Portugal, Cassandra."


	2. Chapter 2

I don't own anything from the Uncharted series

srsly pls dont sue me

* * *

2

It was so classic Jared Kay to book the most expensive room in the most expensive hotel in Oahu. The marble countertops and high quality robes were really overdoing it, in my opinion, but Jared didn't seem to mind.

The price was stupid, but I'm not stubborn enough to not realize that the hotel room was beautiful. We had already walked through the room itself, passed the plush, silky bed, walking over the pure wood floors to the deck outside. It had plenty of floorspace and glass accessories, like the table I had my elbows on and the confusingly comfortable chair I was sitting in, waiting for Jared to get something.

When he did walk back in, he had lost the jacket and unbuttoned a couple of buttons and he was carrying what looked like an old book. He placed it down on the table, sitting down in the other chair at the table across from me. "The Oak Island Treasure by Charles Benedict Driscoll."

The book was worn around every single edge. It was an old book - simple as that. It looked a little thin, even though the hard cover protecting the delicate pages was weirdly thick. I opened the book, right away seeing a dedication in wispy letters written in pencil. I read it out loud. "To my dearest friend, this book will give you what you desire." I noted the signature below the words. "The signature is from Charles. He signed this book and gave it to someone - his dearest friend." I flipped a couple more pages, glancing up at Jared. "Where did you get this?"

"Does it matter?"

"Was it expensive?"

"Very."

I flipped through, back and forth, noticing one small detail that was a little off. Right at that place on each page, where there's a space between the words and the spine - the blank space - on one particular page, there was a small dot. It looked like pencil and it was right beside the beginning of a sentence. "The stone was shown to everyone who visited the Island in those days. Smith built this stone into his fireplace, with the strange characters outermost, so that visitors might see and admire it." I took another glance at Jared. "The Smith are the original owners of Oak Island."

He turned smug. "I thought you didn't care for this one."

"I've done a little research," I admitted. A long time ago, I had invested all of three hours into researching Oak Island before I was convinced it was a mass hysteria. Anyway, I kept reading. "Many years after his death, the stone was removed from the fireplace and taken to Halifax, where the local savants were unable to translate the inscription."

"What stone?"

"In 1862, they found a rock with some mysterious markings on it. No one's been able to translate the markings, even to this day," I informed him, continuing to read in my head.

"Well, how does this fit into your mass hysteria-hoax theory?"

"Simple; a worker could've planted the stone to keep up the hysteria or even just the funding for the excavations." I met Jared's eyes, giving him the same challenging look he gave me earlier. "You know, something a shady business man would do."

He didn't like that. "Just keep reading."

"It was then taken to the home of J.B. McCulley in Truro, where it was exhibited to hundreds of friends of the McCulley's..." I skipped ahead a little bit, uninterested by some of the information. "Somehow the stone fell into the hands of a bookbinder, which used it as a base upon which to beat leather for many years. A generation later, with the inscription nearly worn away, the stone found its way to a bookstore in Halifax, and what happened to it after that I was unable to learn. But there are plenty of people living who have seen the stone. Nobody, however, ever seriously pretended to translate the inscription."

"Plenty of people living who have seen the stone," Jared repeated back. "That book was published in 1930. Has anyone seen it past then?"

I read on, mentions of the stone suddenly stopping. "There's no mention of the stone past this point."

"Great." Jared Kay aka Never Satisfied. "So, no one has any idea what happened to the stone after it got to this bookstore?"

"I don't know," I said, making him even less satisfied. "I'll have to read the book."

"You ever researched anything about the stone?"

Honestly? "The bookstore closed down in 1919 and there's no trace of the stone after that. I mean, this Charles guy who wrote this - he's just saying everything that anyone who knows how to work google could figure out." I looked down at the book. "What's weird about it is that someone wanted that sentence to stand out from the others. And this hand-written dedication in the front -" I flipped back to the front, standing up and making my way to be next to Jared as I pointed. "To my dearest friend, this book will you what you desire. If he wanted to say treasure, he would've said that the book would give him the treasure. If not the treasure..."

"The stone?"

"Maybe." I sighed, looking down at the fine writing. "But if Charles Driscoll is just a writer, he wouldn't have any means for the stone. He wouldn't know what to do with it." The gears in my mind constantly turned, putting thoughts together. "Whoever he dedicated this book to had to be some sort of treasure-hunter or someone working first-hand with the excavations - someone who would have use for the stone."

Jared nodded, keeping notes in his mind. "So, they find this stone in 1862 with markings that no one can decipher. It somehow ends up at a bookstore and come 1919, the stone just disappears. In 1930, Charles Driscoll publishes a book, personally signs one and sends it off to an explorer-friend, suggesting that the book will give this person what he desires, which is, presumably, the stone - the same stone that no one knows the whereabouts of." He leaned back in his chair, his shoulder grazing my arm. "Sounds like an important stone."

I thought back really hard. "I did hear something once about a decipher, but -" I paused, wondering if it was even worth saying.

"But?"

I stood up straight, shrugging my shoulders. "But no one knows who claimed this was the decipher of the code and there's no evidence to back it up. It's an empty claim."

Jared looked interested to me, and he proved my observation correct when he asked, "What's the claim?"

"Ten feet below are two million pounds buried." I still remember seeing those words on my computer screen as a kid. It never sounded right.

"Did anyone investigate?"

"Of course. They dug deeper, but when they got to ten feet and there was nothing but another obstacle, they kept digging. And then ten feet turned into twenty and still nothing." I looked out at the beach, just noticing how hot my skin felt. "Like I said, it's an empty claim. We have to find out who this dearest friend is, and maybe we can find the stone. I'm thinking without the stone, digging into the Money Pit will be useless."

Find the guy. Find the stone. Find the treasure.

Jared stood, his tall frame causing me to take a big step backward. "Charles Driscoll died in 1951 and his son died in 1970, but he does have a grandson who's still alive."

I spun around, walking back into the air-conditioned room. "Do we know where he lives?"

"Already got someone on it. They should get back to me soon."

I didn't stop once I got into the room. I kept walking, ignoring the glorious feel of cold air hitting me. "Then I'm leaving. You can call me when you find out. We'll go right away."

"Are you going to pick up this time?"

I opened the door of the hotel room, spinning around to see his lean body standing still in the doorway to the patio. "Of course."


	3. Chapter 3

I don't own anything from the Uncharted series

srsly pls dont sue me

* * *

3

"I have to say -" I couldn't hold back a smirk. "This mode of transportation is a little bit of a change of scenery."

It was a crowded subway, which sat just fine with me. But, judging by the way Jared was sitting, it was unusual for him. I pictured him sitting in the backseat of a black town car, windows tinted, not a single scratch, getting driven around by an older man who didn't get paid nearly enough. To see him and his nice shoes on a crowded subway was a sight I would never, ever forget.

"It's downtown Halifax," Jared pointed out the obvious. "And I thought blending might be the best idea."

"A bright idea indeed."

His face turned over to me and his strong jaw turned. He sighed, the air coming out of his nose before his mouth opened and he asked, "Are you finished reading the book?"

"Yes." Holding the book in my hands, I flipped to a page that I had bookmarked and I started to read a quote I had found inside the book. "How did the treasure really reach Oak Island? Who could have buried it there, and why should anyone bury it so deeply and so securely, and then leave it there, forever guarded by the ocean?"

"And?"

I ran my fingers over the rough pages. "Nothing, I just - I bet every person who read this book really thought there was some hidden treasure in the Money Pit. This guy really, honestly believed there was something there. It comes across in the pages."

"But nothing about the stone?"

I shook my head, just as disappointed as he was. "No. Not a single thing." I got comfortable in my seat, tucking the book in my bag. "My bet is Charles Driscoll's friend is the person we really want to see. He knew something, but whatever that something was could only be put to good use by this other person."

"So, they were working together to get the treasure," Jared said, simply simplifying what I had said. "Charles had the information and his friend had the skills."

I nodded. "Possible scenario is Charles knew where the rock was and used the book to somehow signal his friend towards it. Then when his friend deciphered the code and got the treasure, they'd split the difference. It'd be smart on Driscoll's part. He'd have to do next to nothing except give this person the stone."

"Well, I guess we'll know after we talk to this guy."

"Run him by me again."

"Name's Ted Driscoll. He's been interview multiple times from people working on documentary, books and whatnot and he had never given anything up. He says he just wants to be left alone."

I sighed. "What makes you think he'll talk to us?"

"If I think he'll be difficult, I'll come up it something on the spot." Jared wasn't above lying to get what he wanted. Not the most redeemable quality, but very effective. "Just don't act so interested in the treasure.

"Easy. I'm not."

"Be charming," Jared said to me, not looking me in the eyes. "And smile a lot. He'll talk."

I felt the heat in my body as I looked at Jared. "Is this your weird way of giving me a compliment?"

He finally looked me in the eyes, seeming confused. "What?"

"Charming _and_ pretty?"

"No."

I looked away, crossing my legs and rubbing my palms against my legs. "You must think it at least a little bit."

The truth was, I was always trying to push Jared into admitting something I didn't even know was true. After one night in Portugal, I knew there was more than just a serious, cold side to Jared Kay. He could soft and sweet and almost funny. He was warm on the inside, I thought. And I just wanted him to acknowledge that. That, and how that night in Portugal wasn't a mistake.

We didn't speak for the rest of the ride. We got off the subway eventually, conversing only to find our way to the little house on a street packed with houses. Each one nearly touched the other, but it didn't even matter because the street was beautiful. The trees were big and tall, the branches and leaves casting shadows all over the sidewalk. It was nice.

Ted Driscoll lived in the little brown house at the end. The plants sitting outside on the steps looked like they hadn't been water in a few weeks, but the rest of exterior seemed to be well cared for.

The man who opened to a strong knock from Jared was probably in his sixties, though he stood straight and seemed capable of a lot more than your typical sixty-year-old. His glasses sat down on the bridge of his nose and his sweater vest was tucked in perfectly. "Yes?"

I took Jared's advice and I smiled. "Hi, I'm Cassandra Drake." I stuck out my small hand. "You must be Ted Driscoll."

He shook my hand and nodded. "I am."

Jared jumped in. "Mr. Driscoll, we'd like to ask you a few questions about your grandfather's work."

Ted's eyes grew exhausted in less than a second. I could see it in him - all the times he turned people away because he was tired of talking about his grandfather his entire life. After sixty odd years, I'd be tired of it too. He took a step back and his hand reached for the door. "I'd ask you to please leave."

Oh, no. "Sir -"

Jared's hand found my shoulder and he squeezed it. "My wife and I have always been interested in the Oak Island mystery. We're not, uh -" Jared chuckled, acting like a startled, nervous and excited person, not the cool, calm and collected person I knew him to be. "We're not exactly the digging-type. Only for information."

The man's uncertain eyes shifted to me. "What's the purpose of your visit then?"

I breathed in deeply, never having been the lying type. "Curiosity?" I smiled again.

"As writers, we're very interested in your grandfather's work." Jared was really milking it.

Ted seemed to sigh, taking another step back, his hand falling from the door at the same time the other swung out to gesture to the hallway. "Please, come in."

Jared and I walked inside. The house looked just as small as it had from the outside. It was quant and dated, but everything about it seemed to have history and a story. Nothing about it was modern and new. It was house with character.

Ted led us to the unmatched chairs in the living room. He sat down on a patterned chair and Jared and I sat down on a long couch. Between us, a beautiful wooden coffee table.

"May I ask, why now?"

Jared jumped back in to his persona. "Just moved into the Halifax area." He looked over at me, translating with his intense eyes to get this moving, change the subject, get what we came for.

"Uh..." I looked at Ted, slowly coming to a sentence in my mind. "Your grandfather wrote a book that -"

"The Oak Island Treasure," Ted said, smiling a little. It wasn't a happy smile, but a knowing one. "It wasn't his best seller, but it's the one everyone wants to talk about. I suppose you have a copy you'd like me to look at."

I reached into my bag, pulling out the old book and setting it down on the nice coffee table. "In the book, your grandfather talks about -"

"The stone. I don't know where it is." He wasn't holding back. He had done this hundreds of times. He probably got told the same exact things all the time - got asked the same exact questions. "Is that all?"

"Mr. Driscoll -" Jared started, a hard tone.

"Ted," I said, much softer, making him look at me. "I'm not sure how your grandfather fits into this, but he does somehow and I'd like to know why. I don't really care about the stone, I just -" I shook my head and shrugged, not acting at all. "I'm really just curious what his motives were." I waited for him to say something, but he just nodded. I quickly reached forward, spinning the book toward him and opening the cover to reveal the dedication. "Charles dedicated this to someone."

Ted looked at it intently. "Where did you get this?"

Jared coughed lightly, folding his hands as his elbows rested on his knees. "What matters is that we have it. It wasn't easy to get."

Ted looked up at me. "He only signed the one. This one." He reached for the book, finger just barely touching it before his hand slinked back to his body. "As a boy, he only kept one copy for himself." Ted started to smile, eventually laughing. "If my brothers and I ever touched it, boy, we were asking for it."

I chuckled as I felt Jared's knee start to bounce ever so slightly beside me. He was getting impatient, so I rested my hand on his leg and squeezed for him to stop. I continued to look at Ted, only paying attention to him. "Grandparents can be like that."

As Ted nodded, he leaned back into his chair, crossing his legs. "Yes, well, one day, the book seemed to just disappear. There was no more mischief I could get into concerning to book, so I moved on to my grandfather's favourite pair of shoes."

"Did he say anything about the book?"

He reached forward briefly to close the book. "No."

He was lying, but as I looked at him - at how tired he looked, I started to feel bad. I didn't care about the treasure to begin with and I certainly didn't want to torture this man unfortunate enough to be the only living relative left of the Driscoll family who would know anything.

I nodded. "Okay."

"Cass -"

I turned to Jared. "Enough." I sighed, reaching out for the book, stopping once I saw Ted's gaze stuck on the cover. I pressed my hands against the book, pushing it away from me, closer to Ted. "Keep it. You deserve it more than I do."

Jared scoffed. "Cassandra." He was probably feeling a little empty in the pockets and angry that I had thrown it all away. I didn't blame him, though his attitude wasn't exactly helping my sympathy for him.

Ted picked up the book slowly, turning to pages as Jared and I stood. "Sit down," he said calmly. Jared and I glanced at one another before sitting back down. Ted was ended on one page - the page with the dedication. "My grandfather never had the stone. He was just good friends with the man who did."

Holy shit. We actually got something.

"Who?"

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes at Jared as I looked at Ted. "His dearest friend, of course."

Ted smiled. "Yes." He looked down at the page and then up at only me. "Robert Dunfield. He was an anthropologist and skilled geologist. He was my grandfather's best friend. I remembered hearing the two of them talking about Oak Island before I knew anything about it. You wanted to know his role and it was partnering up with Robert Dunfield to find the treasure."

"Anything else?"

Ted merely glanced at Jared, not that impressed by him. "That's all, son."

I leaned forward. "You've been such a big help, Ted." I wasn't lying when I said I was curious. I still was. "But why? Why help... _me_?"

His face turned kind and sweet, which seemed more true to him than his previous detached vibe he had. "In all these years of probing, not one single person has offered me the book." He turned the book over in his hands, studying it. "Believe it or not, I never had a copy and I've found it very hard to find one. It seems that all the ones left have fallen into the hands of the wrong people. Every book except this one."

I looked at him, no longer seeing the fatigue in his eyes. "Thank you for everything, Ted."

After a quick minute of goodbyes, Jared and I were walking along the sidewalk, under the beautiful trees.

"Now I don't understand," Jared said, hands finding the pockets of his most casual pants. "If Charles Driscoll was giving this book to give his friend, who already had the stone, to give him what he _desired,_ what did this guy desire?"

Jared was right. It didn't make any sense. Charles Driscoll wasn't bargaining with the stone. He never had the stone. He wrote and signed in pencil a personal note for a friend who desired something that was in the book, but it wasn't the stone. What else was there?

"Cassandra."

I fell out of my own mind, looking up at Jared, who was standing still in front of me. "I don't know." I got to thinking. "After the stone disappeared from the bookstore when it shut down, Robert Dunfield must've gotten it somehow. That would've been between 1919 and 1930, because we know he had it by that time. So, his friend publishes a book in 1930 and claims it will give Robert what he wants?" The gears were shifting, but nothing was connecting. "It doesn't make any sense."

"But we do know Charles and Robert working together and that Robert had the stone."

"And Robert's obviously dead, but he must've left the stone someone, assuming he still had possession of it when he died." I sighed, knowing that this was only leading to less time in Peru. "Logically speaking, he'd only leave it to the people he trusted, most likely a family member."

Jared was already pulling out his phone. "I'll get on it. Get a name and an address. Probably another stubborn grandson."

I grabbed his arm before he could walk away. "What was with you in there?"

Jared looked at me, dark brows furrowed down at me. "Excuse me?"

"Have you no sense of decency? You can't just _push_ people, Jared." I hated how he acted in that house. It bothered me a lot. He was without consideration for anyone else but him - always had been.

"We would've never gotten in the front door if it wasn't for me," Jared pointed out quickly.

"You were being very rude," I also pointed out. I really did like Jared. He was a friend and a colleague, but he did have a lot of qualities I could've done without, like his asshole-ish tendencies.

He leaned down to be closer to me. "All you have to do is get this treasure and then you can go to Peru. That's what you're so angry about, isn't it?"

I shook my head, shrugging at the same time, but I had no response. I sighed, blinking slowly to regain any strength I had left to get through the trip to the hotel he had booked for us. I started walking again. "Just stop talking."

Jared's pace matched mine. "My pleasure."


	4. Chapter 4

I don't own anything from the Uncharted series

srsly pls dont sue me

* * *

4

I opened the door, letting go of the handle and turning away when I saw who it was. "Hey."

Jared walked inside, closing the door behind him. He walked three steps before making a smart comment. "We've been in this hotel for two days, Cassandra, and it looks like a tornado's swept through here."

Mess was the atmosphere I grew up in and it was the kind of lifestyle I had. I didn't ever notice until someone else pointed it out. Of course that person would be Jared, who never a crooked tie or a stray hair.

I shrugged, sitting down at the chair at the desk. "I like it that way."

Instead of taking a seat on the bed, he stood by the desk, stuffing his hands into his pockets and nodded towards my laptop on the desk. "What are you doing?"

I looked at the computer, bringing my leg up on the chair and resting my chin onto it, knowing there was quite a bit of reading ahead of me. "Robert Dunfield started an excavation in 1924 on Oak Island where him and his team got 134 feet in and 100 feet wide. He inspected for artifacts, but never never found anything. His lease was terminated in 1925 and he was forced to stop his excavation. In 1931, he started another excavation with his partners Daniel C. Blankenship, David Tobias, and Fred Nolan. They got 235 feet and could see but not get to possible chests, human remains, wooden cribbing and tools but it wasn't clear that those were what they were looking at." I scrolled down. "The shaft collapsed and excavation was abandoned."

"Why wait six years?"

"What?"

Jared walked over to me, one hand landing on the desk as his face came down next to mine, his minty breath on my cheek. "One excavation in 1924 and the next one in 1931. If you were so eager to find the treasure, why wait six years?"

The gears turned. "He was probably looking for the stone."

"I'm sure it's not a coincidence that he finds it by 1930, when Charles published the book, and his next excavation in 1931."

I nodded, agreeing easily. "He doesn't have it, his excavation fails, he realizes he needs it, he gets it, and then he goes on another excavation." I tapped the desk, shaking my head. "It still doesn't explain the note in the book. And his second excavation failed too. No treasure."

Jared leaned up suddenly, fixing his button up. "We'll get the answers from William Dunfield."

I stood also, grabbing the jacket on the floor, realizing just how many clothes were strewn on the floor. "Conveniently keeping the last name."

Jared was walking out. "This guy's a little younger, dumber, likes the attention. He was easy to find and he'll be easy to get information from."

"Judging by everything you just told me, it's my best guess that he won't know anything."

"Why's that?" Jared held the door open for me. He was subtly trying to get back in my good graces. He didn't like to call us friends, but he always seemed unsettled whenever I was crossed with him.

I hid my smile, walking past him. "Why would Robert Dunfield trust a young, dumb, attention-seeking grandson with valuable information, let alone this ominous stone."

Jared just looked ahead, straight face. "People do stupid things."

"I think Robert's a journal person. Every treasure hunter keeps a journal - one their usually not quick to share."

I had learned that lesson from my father and all the secrets he kept locked up in a tall cabinet in his office. When I finally got that thing open, there were no shortages of incredible artifacts and stories from the great adventures of Nathan Drake written into his own journal.

If you have something valuable, you don't go around gloating or sharing that information with everyone else. It was common sense.

Common sense was the one thing William Dunfield did not seem to have. His house was full of trinkets and artifacts - a little cluttered was more like it. He was probably about forty, but he had no much sense - not even common, just sense at all. He sat us down and told us everything about his grandfather, including everything we already knew.

" - And his 1931 excavation was possibly his closest ever."

"But the shaft collapsed," I said, feeling the pain in my head from listening to his loud voice and his quick words. "The excavation was abandoned. Nothing ever came of it."

I was sitting across from William, two steaming cups of coffee between us. Jared was walking around, discreetly searching for something that William maybe wasn't so eager to tell us. But he had been doing that for the past fifteen minutes and it he didn't seem to have anything.

"Yes!" William pointed at me, eyes wide. "But what a lot of people don't know is that they went back!"

"Went...back...?" I shook my head, not understanding the significance.

"They went back and dug again. 181 feet." William's excited tone disappeared right after that. "But they halted work; not enough funds. Plus, there were rumours of some troubles in the partnership?"

"Rumours?" Jared wasn't hiding his distaste for the man anymore. "So even you don't know if the rumours are true or not."

"To be quite honest, my grandpa and I weren't that close," William admitted sheepishly. "In fact, he never really gave me the time of day."

I wondered if William even knew if his grandfather had the stone. I didn't mention it. He didn't mention it. For someone who liked to gloat, you'd think he'd mention the stone, but he never did. That led me to believe the only people he knew about the stone's whereabouts were Charles Driscoll and Robert Dunfield.

"What troubles?" I asked.

William sighed, seeming to think pretty hard for the first time. "I remember hearing him saying something like , uh, 'those stupid sons of bitches don't have what I have', or something like that. Probably, his smarts. He probably thought he was too smart for them." William folded his hands. "Yeah, he was kind of an asshole."

Those sons of bitches don't have what I have - what did Robert Dunfield have that the others didn't. Simple. The stone. He obviously didn't tell his partners, probably creating some tensions, a break up. Robert went off on his own, trying to decipher the code...

But what came of it?

I looked at Will. "Where are all of your grandfather's journals?"

William smiled, standing up. "They're upstairs. I'm telling you, people have come by and found absolutely nothing." He walked towards the stairs, walking up quite quickly. "Of course, I'll have to keep watch on the two of you. I don't want you ruining anything."

The room we entered into was even worse than the downstairs. It wasn't messy, there was just a lot of everything. Tons of books and random pieces of paper - stuff like that.

I looked around.

Now what would someone who was blinded by their desperate need for fame and money look over. What little thing would be an essential clue that no one would think of. Probably something to do with Charles Driscoll and probably something that looked incredibly mundane.

There was a piece of paper that was folded like a card, sitting on top of a pedestal-looking thing. It didn't seem like a pedestal for the card, but more like the card was just placed there accidentally or conveniently. I walked towards the card, picking it up and opening it.

 _To my dearest friend,_

 _Have the happiest of birthdays!_

 _Your friend, Charles_

That was it. That was all that was on the piece of paper. I put the paper back down, letting my fingers touch the cold pedestal. I studied the rectangular shape, rough edges...and dark colour. It was strange how the surface of the slab was bumped and not smooth. It would never hold something confidently. It was almost as if it was -

"Upside down."

"What?" Jared appeared by my side, staring at the pedestal.

It wasn't a pedestal. It was just a fancy nightstand with a stone sitting on top. _The_ stone.

I spun around, eyes wide at Jared. I looked past him, seeing William in the doorway, arms crossed. "William," I started, unsure of what I was going to say.

"Didn't you say you met Oprah?" Jared said to him, having a friendly smile I had never seen before. "Man, I'd love to see that picture."

William's face lit up. "I'll go get it. If I can find it." He turned slowly, keeping a cool exterior as he moved away from the doorway and towards the stairs. The sound of feet on the stairs didn't match the slow movements from before. I imagined him scrambling to keep the interest of anyone.

"What is it?"

I put the birthday card on a nearby desk, grabbing one side of the stone. "Help me flip this over."

Jared didn't ask any questions, he just took the stone and flipped it from one side to the other, revealing markings carved into the stone - the same ones I had always heard about.

Seeing it in person took my breath away. I ran hand over the barely there markers. "Wow."

"Did you see that?"

"See what?" All I could look at was the stone.

"That handle when we were flipping the stone," Jared said, taking the heavy stone with both of his hands and moving it to another nearby desk. I held my breath, worried that he was going to drop it. But it touched down on the desk safely, and then he moved on the tugging on a handle of the base of the pedestal. When it popped open, it was exactly what I expected to find.

The cover was hard and paper-like. It had a hand-drawn cartoon on the front. It was a man bending over the money pit, a little ways away a man leaning against a tall tree with his arms crossed, looking sort of smug.

I reached in and pulled the book out. "A journal." I smiled widely, opening it up to a random page. "Guaranteed this will tell us everything we need to know."

Jared went over to the door, peeking out before closing it quietly. "Then read the damn thing."

I let my eyes fall on the page, reading over the neat cursive letters as I read not too loudly. "1931. It's working. Daniel, David and Fred are still working on the Money Pit. They think it will need to something great, while I know well it will not." I stopped, too anxious to read slowly. I read quickly and way too fast to read every word out to Jared.

 _1931 - They don't know I have the stone. I won't tell them. Even if I did, I'd have nothing to show for it. I can't decipher the code. I'm at a loss of what do to. Charles is getting anxious. After all he's done for me, I still have my doubts. I am unsure of what I will tell him when I decipher it. After all, I will be the one deciphering the code, not him. I deserve the treasure the most._

"Robert was having doubts," I told Jack, very surprised. "It's sounding like he wasn't too keen on sharing the treasure with his buddy."

"Sounds like nice guy."

I chuckled as I flipped some pages.

 _1929 - I have the stone and no code. All I have knowledge of is that the treasure is not where it seems. But what does that mean?_

 _My unsuccessful excavations have become a big bother. All I desire is an advantage. I need more time to decipher the code. I need more time to stay ahead of everyone else. Should anyone decipher the code, they will reach the treasure before I do and it will all be for naught._

 _Charles has an idea for a distraction. I take it._

I chuckled. "Sneaky bastards."

"What?"

I looked up at Jared, shaking my head in disbelief. "Charles's note; this book will give you what you desire. The book wasn't for the stone." I chuckled. "It was a distraction. It was to keep the belief going that the money pit was where the treasure was when Charles and Robert knew that it wasn't! Robert desired a distraction so that he could have more time to find the treasure before other people caught on."

"Okay." Jared took a deep and controlled breath, retaking the notes he already had set up in his mind. "Robert finds the rock and discovers the treasure isn't where everyone thinks it is but he still doesn't know where; people are starting to catch on, so he sets up a distraction with this book? That explains the note, but the book wasn't exactly a New York Times best seller, Cass. What was to keep everyone digging there?"

 _1933 - "D" = Ten feet below are two million pounds buried_

"Look -" I set the book down on the desk next to the stone, pointing. "D in quotations, indicating irony or mocking, right? Assuming that the letter D means decipher, that would mean this famous decoding everyone got all riled up about was actually a purposefully wrong one put out by Robert Dunfield himself."

Jared started to smile. I had never seen his smile at an artifact before. "He gets his friend to release a book to keep the belief going and then puts out a fake decoding the keep the excavations going on a spot he knows doesn't have the treasure, all so he can have a little more time to get a real decipher out of this stone."

"Exactly," I confirmed, looking further down the page.

"Did he ever get it?"

It was just all the symbols on the rock with a bunch of equal signs and things I didn't understand. There were a bunch of blank spots.

"I don't know. If he did, he probably decided not to tell Charles."

"Why hide his findings?"

I looked up at Jared. "Maybe he didn't want anyone to find the treasure if he didn't get to."

He stared down at me, his intense eyes drowning in my own. The corners of his lips starting to turn up - the opposite direction they usually went in. "I know you think I didn't but I had a greet time in Portugal."

I laughed, looking away as I felt the warmth in my body make its way to face. I let my nervous hands find the journal again. "Anyway, uh -" I looked at the stone and then back at the writings. "Something's not right."

"What?"

"These symbols?" I pointed to the first symbol and one near the end. "They're nearly the exact same." I the number and letters are discovered it to be the 10 and the 2 in the fake decipher ten feet below are two million pounds buried. "You see that?"

Jared pointed too. "Yeah. Their exactly the same except for these three lines right here." He gestured to the 2 symbol.

I looked down at the book, seeing that the very first symbol equaled to 1,3. "4? 13? 3? 1? 111?" I sighed. "It could be a million things."

"1000," Jared said confidently. "I've seen this before in a museum. It's archaic royal coding."

"You go to museums?"

He glanced at me. "Not now."

I smiled, pushing his hand away. "Okay, so the first symbol is 1000, not 10 like the fake decipher. Now we have '1000 feet below are 2 million pounds buried."

"It makes more sense now that we know -"

I looked at what symbol near the end, noticing the lines. To put it in the simplest terms, the lines looked like '- II'. "Same symbol, subtract two zeros and you have ten." I looked at the book and stone quickly to confirm my own thinking, the gears in my head moving faster.

"1000 below are 10 millions pounds buried."

"That's just can't be," I said, thinking about the logistics. "One thousand feet below?"

The symbols didn't match up. Below. Below. Below. Five letters, but four symbols for that word. What was a four letter word that would make sense in that spot? Under? But that'd still be impossible. And if that was the real code, it wouldn't exactly keep people _away_.

One thought connected with the other.

"Away."

Jared's eyes searched the stone. "Explain."

I pointed to the symbols. "Below is five letters. It's too many symbols for that grouping. It's another word and I think that word is -"

"Away." Jared nodded.

"1000 thousand feet _away_ are 10 million pounds buried."

"In which direction?"

I was so caught up in the brilliant, mind-blowing moment that I hadn't given it any thought. I flipped through the pages of the book, back to front and then again and again and I saw no indication of even just a connection to answer that question. I shut the book, shaking my head. "Why I do get this feeling that the Oak Island treasure will never be -" I picked up the book, holding it to my face as I studied the cartoon on the front.

The man leaning against the tree - he looked like he knew something the other poor fellow leaning over the money pit didn't. And there were tons of trees drawn in the background, but only one - the one the man was leaning against - detailed and sort of bent awkwardly, unnaturally. It stood out. And that was when I noticed the incredibly subtle, looking as it had almsot been erased but not that well arrow drawn into the grass, pointing to the tree.

I put the book down and pointed. "In the direction of that tree."

Jared picked up the book, stood straight. Once his eyes met mine, he reminded me exactly of the look he gave me when he picked me up on the beach in Oahu - mighty unimpressed. "You're willing to bet time, resources, and _money_ on a badly drawn cartoon?"

"Yes." I was firm and very sure of myself.

"How do we know if it's even still there?"

"I couldn't find it." Both of our heads snapped to the door, where a flushed William was. "I looked everywhere and I couldn't find it, but I could tell you all about it. I could paint a picture in your head, sort of."

I chuckled, leaning against the table and crossing my arms. "I think we could spare some time."


End file.
